


Looking With a Tender Eye

by Thingsareswinging



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, the obligatory capture fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-30 03:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6407464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thingsareswinging/pseuds/Thingsareswinging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Day of Black Sun goes just as badly, but someone different is left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a walk-on part in the war

 

The pain isn't actually as bad as he'd been expecting. It hurts, sure, he's not going to pretend getting seven kinds of crap beat out of him is fun, not now, not when there's nobody to perform to, but. But he's alive, that's the thing. He'd been half-expecting to get killed on the spot.

He stretches out on the thin plank that he guesses is supposed to be a bed, and counts the bricks on the cell wall. It distracts from the way his knee keeps throbbing. 

* * *

 

The morning comes, and he's just about to see if he can stand on both legs again when the door to the cell bursts open, and suddenly there's guards, three of them, and his hand reaches for a sword that's not there any more and a spear jabs through the bars of his cage and hovers menacingly at his throat. A second spear, on the other side, makes it clear that what he's supposed to do here is stand perfectly still.

It's just weird enough that he's more confused than frightened.

“Hands behind your head,” one of the guards- he can't tell which, because they're all wearing masked helmets- skull masks, he realises, for the first time, they're actually wearing skull masks, what the crap- barks. He complies, out of a healthy respect for bladed weaponry.

It's not until the third guard fills a small cup with water, and affixes the cup onto a long, thin pole, that he realises what's going on.

“Drink,” comes the order, as the water is proffered, cautiously.

“Okay, but... you guys do know I'm not a waterbender, right?”

* * *

 

“So, I lay a trap for the Avatar, and what I get... is you.”

His first instinct is to close his eyes, but he can do one better than that. He yawns, and rolls over to face the wall. Let her smirk at his shoulderblades, see how far that gets her.

He's kind of expecting to die for that, but whatever. He's been kind of expecting to die for days now.

After a while, during which he somehow fails to find himself shot full of lightning, his left arm starts to die, and he has to roll back over.

She's still there.

“You're still here,” he says, and regrets it instantly.

“Well, I was inspecting the repairs, and I thought I might as well check on the newest prisoner. Is there anything you need?” she insinuates, and she's trying to get him to bristle, to be entertaining, and absolutely fuck that.

“Yeah could you let your guys know that I'm not a waterbender? I've tried telling them but I don't think they understand, and drinking from a wobbling cup on the end of a barge-pole is getting really old.”

She tilts her head, a tiny nod of acknowledgement and he realises way too late that he shouldn't have risen to her at all, but then her mouth turns up a little at the corners, like she's thinking something over.

“You really aren't a waterbender?”

“I have this amazing trick where I can turn water into me being not thirsty any more.”

“Hm.” She looks slightly thoughtful, then dismisses him with a wave of her hand. “Well, I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

After she's gone, he realises he's annoyed she got the last word, which has definitely got to be a bad sign. 

* * *

 

The days pass, slowly. There's not much she can do, not while the repairs to the city are still being completed, and it's not as though she can go chasing Zuko, and leave the city under-defended.

So it's only a matter of time before she finds herself in front of the barbarian's cage again. Really, if he doesn't like it, it's his fault for being slightly interesting.

“So,” he bristles, delightfully confrontational, “I can't help but notice I've still got my teeth.”

That stops her, for just a moment, and she frowns.

“You know, none of my fingers are broken, no superficial burns, okay no new superficial burns, distinct lack of terrifying noises in the middle of the night, I get let out in the yard for exercise once a day.”

“You're welcome.”

“My point is, if this is some subtle reverse-psychology thing, it's really not working.”

Oh. Oooh. “Well, do you know anything useful?”

“Loads of stuff, actually.”

“I'm sure. Do you know where the Avatar is now?”

“No.”

She shrugs. “Well there's no need for anyone to waste their time, then. You might prove useful in a hostage situation, if the Avatar shows his face again. Until then, you can stay there.”

The logic appears to mollify him, for a second, before something occurs to him. “So... what'd you do to Suki?”

The question throws her, and she blinks. “Who?”

“Oh come on. Where is she?”

Oh, right. Her.

She shrugs. “I honestly don't know. A prison somewhere, I expect.”

“You expect me to buy that?” he barks, more bitter than she was expecting. “After all that stuff you said on the day of black sun?”

She has to shrug. “I was trying to distract you. It worked.”

“Oh.” He scowls, like he's trying to figure out what he should be feeling. “I'm an idiot, huh.” 

* * *

 

She's back again. He's starting to get concerned. What if she's got... ideas?

Not that he's have ever considered what that might be like, no sir, not a chance.

"Tell me," she asks, and maybe she was just trying to get him off guard before, maybe now it's time for the thumbscrews and getting hit with sticks until he can't remember to lie "what made you decide to follow the Avatar?"

Okay, maybe not. Maybe it's Uncomfortable Personal Truths time instead.

He shrugs. "Not like I was doing anything with my free time."

"This," she gestures at his cell, ignoring his answer, "had to have been the best you could hope for. You're not stupid. You couldn't have thought you'd win." Oh, ouch. Nice backhanded compliment. Focus on that, don't pay attention to the fact that she's got a point.

At the same time, he thinks she's missing the bigger picture. And apparently that's his problem now.

"If I didn't go, it would've been Aang and Katara by themselves," he muses, more to himself. He's never really put it into words before, but there it is. Simple.

"Katara." She sounds a little lost.

"Yeah, you know. My sister?"

"Oh," she says, in a way that makes him think that maybe he gave the wrong answer. He keeps going anyway, though, because really, what's she going to do? Have him arrested?

"It's like... yeah, it's not as though I could do much, we've kind of established that, failed invasion and so on, but I figured I could try and keep them alive." It's even worked, up to a point. The point where his invasion plan had completely failed, and he'd gotten captured. Up until then it'd been okay.

"No, but what is the point of fighting? This would have been over long ago if it weren't for the Avatar. Why join him?"

Oh okay, suddenly this conversation isn't fun any more. "When I was a kid," he says, rolling over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, "my village was attacked by a whole fleet of Fire Nation ships. We weren't soldiers, not really. We were barely in the war at all, actually. Spent most of our time just making sure we were fed. The fleet killed a lot of people. Kids, parents. Because they'd heard that one waterbender had been born." He doesn't look up, doesn't want to see if she's even listening. "Stuff like that makes me kind of suspicious when people talk about how much better life'd be if we stopped resisting you guys."

When he looks up, she isn't there.

"Yeah, you'd _better_ run," he mutters, when he's quite sure she's out of earshot. 

* * *

 

It isn't that she's avoiding him, naturally. He's in a cell. It's not as though she's worried she'll bump into him in the corridors of the palace. She simply has no reason to visit him. Not that she would otherwise be looking for reasons.

She's not Zuko, stealing away to the prison every night to rant and rave at a figure behind bars. She simply visited when she had cause to. He's intriguing, and there's so little to do.

But she waits, this time. She doesn't go to see him until he gives her a reason to.

She's nothing like Zuko at all. Sokka is far more interesting than Uncle ever was.

* * *

 

He's sleeping when she strides into the room, one arm wedged behind his head, leg dangling off the narrow platform that serves as his bed, the other splayed out, twitching with some dream.

She spends a few minutes wondering how to wake him up. The chisel is a reassuring weight in her hand. It's a remarkably well-made tool, and she wonders where he managed to steal it from.

Eventually, she runs the chisel horizontally along the bars of his cage, filling the small room with a echoing, rattling, metallic cacophony.

He shrieks, actually, honestly _shrieks_ , and hurls himself up, back shoving against the stone wall, elbows pinwheeling, trying to climb the wall like a spider. It takes everything in her not to laugh out loud.

"What was that?" he wheezes, desperate and indignant. "Are you actually trying to kill me?"

She waves the chisel at him, and smiles.

He deflates so deliciously, a strangely delicate sigh that nearly flutters his eyelids, and he sinks down, back onto his bed, and folds his arms.

"Well," he sighs, after a moment, "you can't blame a guy for trying."

And she can't, of course. It isn't as though she wouldn't do the same in his position. She'd just be better at it.

“I guess now's the part where you tell me if I try and escape again something terrible'll happen, huh,” he asks, and he's playing the game, so of course she has to beat him.

“Oh, I wouldn't ever tell you to stop trying to escape,” she says, matter-of-factly, brushing a lock of hair out of her eye. “It's just that if you do-”

“Okay here it comes, you'll set fire to a village or something, better make it an Earth Kingdom village or I am not gonna care-”

“If you do,” she repeats, sternly, until he starts paying attention “I'll hunt you down myself.”

She isn't quite sure she'd meant to say that, but it worked, in that he looks confused and a little worried.

It's a good look on him, she decides.

“Well, okay, you can't beat the personal touch.” 

* * *

 

"So," he sighs, rolling onto his back, folding his arms above his head, self-consciously crafting an imitation of someone really unselfconscious, “you really think you're gonna win, huh?"

She's doing that not-interrogating thing that, in anyone else under any other circumstances, he'd have called 'a conversation'.

She smirks at him. He can tell just by the tone of her voice. "And you don't."

That furrows his eyebrows. "I don't?"

"Think you're going to win."

Oh. He rolls his head to look at her, one eyebrow raised. "And you can tell, huh? My naturally sunny disposition not fool you?"

She shrugs, acknowledging a fact. "I'm a people person."

"Oh yeah, you said. So maybe I'm not sure we can win." He stretches his arms up, taking in the whole of his cell in a conservative gesture. "What do I know?"

* * *

 

She should have expected he'd be good at this. He's creative, a quick thinker, unconventional in a very particular way. Pai Sho was made for minds like his.

Unfortunately, the ancient masters had failed to account for a mind like hers. It was to be expected, of course, but she had never been able to constrain herself in the way the game demanded. She kept having to fight the urge to play moves like 'Black Dragon Disguises Itself As Summer Garden, Infiltrates Three Wheels' Defences, And Stabs Them In The Back.' All this nonsense with hopping over tiles somehow didn't have the same effect.

Which was why, if anyone were to dare to ask, she was losing handily.

He's sitting up, now, eyes fixed hungrily on the board, lips moving silently in thought. Every so often he glances warily up at her- he knows he's winning, but more importantly he hasn't worked out she isn't letting him yet- and hesitantly calls his move.

"Seven- no- Six Rings to White Lotus."

She of course has not been such a fool as to let him reach the board. She moves the tile, as requested.

"Wheels. These pieces are called Wheels."

"Not where I learned to play. Now come on, start putting up a fight before I go back to sleep."

She could quite possibly have been within her rights to have him killed for that comment, but for some reason she finds herself more interested in the outcome of the game.

* * *

 

One morning, he comes to the unpleasant conclusion that he... kind of likes her. Company. Her company. He finds himself looking forward to her visits, which are suspiciously more frequent than he figures should really be normal procedure.

This is definitely a problem. He's pretty sure he's heard of this, prisoners starting to decide that their captors are right and sympathetic and stuff.

As an experiment, next time the guard who brings him his rice shows up, Sokka stares at him in intense concentration, trying as hard as possible to find him sympathetic and human and probably justified about stuff in his own mind.

Try as he might, though, Sokka can't shake the nagging conviction that Rice Guard is just a jerk in a bad hairstyle. No looking forward to his company, no wondering what his life was like growing up, no stupid in another life pining, and definitely no getting increasingly distracted by the shape of his eyes.

So that's good? 

* * *

 

"...See, I actually met Zhao, and can I say? If that's your star Admiral, I have no idea why you guys are winning."

Azula tilts her head, conceding the point. "On occasion, some people get promoted further than they actually deserve."

"I am so glad that guy's dead," Sokka announces, with more feeling than she was expecting. She's tempted to prod further, but she has to remember why she's here.

"I came to tell you, I shall have to leave you alone for a while. But don't worry. When I get back, you should have company."

His brow furrows, and after a moment, he looks... disappointed, impossibly.

"Oh."

She can feel herself getting angrier, and rushes to justify herself. "You should be glad! After all, both of us know this war has to end. This will be the quickest path to peace."

It's not getting through to him. She doesn't know why it should, or why she cares.

"For you, sure. Whatever," he sighs, turning to face the wall. "Have fun."

She retreats, putting him firmly out of mind. She has a war to end. 

* * *

 

The days pass. Eventually, most of the repairs to the prison have been completed, which cuts down his potential avenues for escape pretty severely. He begins to wonder if he might just be in it for the duration. Which would be pretty terrible, but hey. Comet's coming soon, either way he's not going to be much use as a hostage against Aang for long.

Eventually the guards accept that he's not a waterbender, and they stop worrying every time he looks thirsty.

It's been weeks since Azula last bothered him. He tells himself he only notices because it's the only thing that's different in his life right now. 

* * *

 

He's guarded even in his sleep. One hand under his head, a reflex, a remembered action from holding a blade under his pillow. He sleeps expecting a knife in the dark. He's right to.

She feels the mad urge to touch him. To know he's there, he's real. She imagines, for just a second, opening the cage door. Letting him step out.

He'd run. He'd leave, he'd fight, he'd die, he'd _run_.

Nobody has stayed near her because they wanted to.

She steps back, and shakes her head. He can stay in his cage. At least she knows where he is. 

* * *

 

He wakes up in the middle of the night- just a nightmare, he's long since gotten used to those, they're like bad weather; nothing he can do to stop them, all he can do is deal with them when they happen- and she's there, standing in the corner of the room, just... watching him.

Yeah, that's normal. That's healthy.

“'S been a while,” he yawns, for want of anything better to say. She starts, like he just caught her doing something weird. Like, say, watching somebody sleep.

“You're awake,” she says, and that's when he knows something's wrong. Staring at him while he's asleep is just creepy, but she's never fed him such an easy line before.

“...Yeah.” Enough of the quips, enough of the stupid back and forth. He sits up, running a hand through his hair, working it out of his face. “What's up?”

She grins, wide and wrong, he knows how she smiles and this isn't it, this is her putting on a show. Even as he's looking her he can see her realise he's not fooled, and she shakes her head.

“I'm fine. Just fine,” she grins, too loud, too harsh, that's not what she sounds like when she's sure of something, and that's it, he gives up, whatever it's called when a prisoner gets completely infatuated with the princess that's captured him, he is it, from his hair to his boots. Or he would be if he had boots on.

He pushes himself to his feet, but even as he turns towards her, she vanishes into the shadows, gone before he can say a word. 

* * *

 

The day of the comet dawns, the sky dusk-red, what little he can see from his cell. He desperately hopes Aang has been keeping an eye on the date.

Amazingly, he can just catch a glimpse of the armada of airships as they take off, and he can't help the stab of engineer's pride- he made that work, it was his idea that turned a pile of wood and canvas into a working design, and he can't help but feel just a little smug about that.

Until he remembers that the Fire Lord is almost certainly using those airships to set fire to anything standing in his way. That kind of takes away from the achievement, just a little. 

* * *

 

Crowned, dressed and regal, he's put her on the throne and tossed her aside and she never wanted this, never thought he could so easily- so simply-

she can't think it, can't even find the word, if she doesn't name it it's not real, but she can feel the thoughts tangling through her hair, hear that voice whispering the old lie she never wanted to believe.

The mirror shatters, and her chest tightens.

The answer comes to her, a flash of clarity.

Send them away. Send them away send them away _send them away_. They can't betray her if they're already gone. 

* * *

 

"You are being released," the guard mutters, grey-faced.

He blinks, certain he's misheard. "What?"

"You are being released." The key turns. Amazingly, the guard presents him with his sword, and his boomerang.

"We couldn't find the club," he mutters, barely holding onto his temper.

"Okay, seriously, what is going on."

He shrugs. "Orders from the Fire Lord. You are being released."

Well that makes complete sense.

* * *

 

Really, there's only one place to go.

The streets are hushed, and empty. Everyone seems to have decided it's a great day to stay indoors and hide.

He spends the whole time expecting another ambush. 

* * *

 

The palace makes the city look like it's bustling.

He looks in all the obvious places, but it seems like everyone just... got up and left, right in the middle of whatever they were doing.

After a while, he finds, miraculously, a drawn bath, still warm. He files this under 'highly suspicious,' and decides the only thing to do is investigate thoroughly.

He grabs a discarded robe once he's done, leaving his prison rags on the floor. He's not sure red is his colour, but it's clean, and sort of fits, at least once he's buckled his sword-belt over it. 

* * *

 

He drifts through the palace corridors in something like a daze. He's long since stopped expecting someone to jump out at him and yell it's all been a mistake, you're under arrest, back to the cage. Now he's just hoping to find something to eat. 

* * *

 

He nudges the huge door open, and slips into the throne room.

He wasn't really expecting anything else, and there she is, slumped, squatting on the throne, half-visible behind flickering bars of pale fire.

She turns to face him, slow and confused, like she doesn't recognise him, at first.

"I ordered you to go."

"No, you let me out. Not the same thing at all."

"Leave."

"...Nah." He flops onto a chair, and, on the basis that he might as well, puts his feet up on the table.

With a sudden rush of rage, she springs from the throne, fists bunched at her sides. "I order you to leave!"

It's such a perfect setup that he can't help but shrug. "Not a Fire Nation citizen, remember? You're not the boss of me."

She doesn't have a response for a long moment. Then she sags, and her head droops forward.

"What are you going to do?" she hisses, almost inaudible under the roar of the wall of fire between them.

"Thought I might stick around."

She cracks. Stumbling back into the throne, she throws back her head and laughs, too wide, too loud, hysteria crashing down onto her, every tongue of fire in the throne room bursting into searing, blue-edged white. Under the bravado, Sokka can't help but shudder.

So that might not be a completely positive sign. Someone should probably do something here.

He tries to shut his ears and tear his eyes away from her, and focus on the first problem in front of him. Big wall of fire. Looks pretty nice, very intimidating, and very in the way right now. Odds of Azula calming down long enough to let him in? Low.

Unbidden, the memory flashes through him: Aang in the desert, winds howling around him, light blaring. Katara striding into the storm. The best of a whole lot of bad ideas.

"Okay don't go anywhere, I will be right back. I promise," he says, as clearly as possible, and darts for the door.

A confident stride and a reaching hand isn't going to cut it here. He's going to need a really big cape, and a bath-full of water. 

* * *

 

Lies! Lies and betrayal! He turns and runs, like she always knew he would, like they all did, like she ordered him to- and now- now-

Is she safe? Is there nobody left to be afraid of?

Her chest is crushing her heart and the only sound that makes it past the blood in her ears is the roar of the fire and footsteps on wood-

A dark shape hurtles through the wall of fire and crashes onto the steps at her feet, shrugging off a singed and steaming cloak with a small shriek, unfolding itself into Sokka.

"See? Told you I'd be right back, okay?"

* * *

 

Azula... wilts. Her head lolls, hands come up to cover her face, she slumps over in her seat, hair cascading down her shoulders.

Then, with such perfect silence he almost doesn't notice it, she starts to cry.

For want of any better ideas, he reaches up, and pats her on the knee. She doesn't seem to mind.

* * *

 

The courtyard is deserted. Zuko looks confused, like he was expecting Azula waiting for him. Katara, at least, is thankful to get the chance to breathe.

He takes the lead through the palace, ash-faced, knuckles white on the hilts of his swords, heading straight for the throne room. Eventually, Katara feels compelled to break the silence.

"There's supposed to be people around, right?"

"Yes," Zuko grinds out, and shoves open the huge doors to the throne room.

Nobody is there to greet them. Zuko blinks at the dead fire pit and the long table, one chair carelessly angled. 

* * *

 

He marches through dark corridors at a frantic pace, twisting through the palace, seemingly completely forgetting that Katara is at his side at all, until he stops dead at the sight of a figure, gently closing a door behind it.

 A ghost, wearing a red robe and clutching a long black sword.

 "Sokka!" she shrieks- he's alive, alive and whole and it's beyond what she ever dared to hope and he looks up and his face breaks into a wide smile.

 "Katara!" he shouts back, before stopping himself short, and lowering his voice. "Katara, you're okay! And... hanging out with Zuko? Also: no shouting, it took _ages_ to-"

 “Where’s my sister?” Zuko interrupts, looking more like his old self than Katara remembered seeing him in a long time. His arms twitch, the swords, still drawn, flashing in the gloom.

 “At this exact moment? Sleeping, finally. And if you think for one second I’m gonna let you charge in there and wake her up and start fighting, give it up. Whatever you’ve got to say can wait for a couple hours.”

 “ _Say_?” snaps Zuko, and Katara starts to wonder.

 “Sokka,” she interrupts, stepping forward, patting Zuko briefly on the shoulder in a reassuring kind of way. “What’s going on?”

 Sokka tilts his head. “Well, it’s kind of… you see…  -actually you clearly _do_ see. …We both somehow managed to end up taking responsibility for a walking disaster area that’s vaguely shaped like Fire Nation royalty, didn’t we? That’s actually something that happened.”

 “Oh." Katara glances back at Zuko, who is beginning to wear a more familiar look- lost and confused, rather than determinedly murderous. “Yeah. I guess so.” The implications sink in, and she whips back round to her brother. “Are you saying-“

 “All I’m saying is if Aang shows up with the Fire Lord in tow, then I’m officially leaving.”

 

* * *

 


	2. a lead role in a cage

Sitting in the gloom of the hallway, listening to the newly-minted Fire Lord address his people in the courtyard, Sokka comes to the abrupt realization that he doesn’t like Zuko much.

The fact that he’s even in the position where he’s expected to have an opinion of Zuko’s character at _all_ is intensely weird, but that’s this exciting new world, he guesses.

The last time he encountered Not-Prince-Any-More-Zuko had been… Ba Sing Se? Sokka’s pretty sure Zuko was floating about there, right? He’d tried to kill Katara, which, in Sokka’s world, stacked him pretty neatly next to Admiral Zhao, Jet, and that one Earth Kingdom general who’d been obsessed with the Avatar State. But clearly something pretty drastic’s changed, because Katara’s fussing over the guy like a mother turtleduck, Aang seems to think Zuko’s hair is made of rainbows, and even Toph’s all ‘he’s like six years old; he’s alright as long as he gets some juice and a nap’.

Suki’s not voiced an opinion either way, as far as Sokka has heard, but that’s probably because he and Suki have been avoiding each other as much as they possibly can, ever since the war ended.

Which, as the speech concludes to wild applause and cheering and probably some waving flags too, indirectly brings him to the main reason why Sokka is not convinced by all this Zuko’s Great Once You Get To Know Him stuff.

The Fire Lord steps through the curtain, off the balcony, blinking slightly in the low light, and the second he sees Sokka he stops short, like he’s not sure what to make of him.

“…Hi?”

Sokka figures he should start with an icebreaker, something to get the conversation going.

“Where’s Azula?”

That ought to do it. Zuko’s face locks down.

“She’s been sent to the healers,” he recites. “She’s not well.”

Sokka gives him a slow look, and tries not to let his hand drift to the hilt of his sword. “I know that, I was _there_. I spent three hours making sure she didn’t burn your house down and drank some soup and got some sleep. I know she’s not well. I _don’t_ know where she _is_. Is she in the palace? The city? The country? Is she still _alive?”_

Zuko goes very pale. Sokka realises he’s breathing hard.

“What are you suggesting?”

It occurs to Sokka, a little too late, that this probably wasn’t the best way to go about this. Tone it down just a little.

“I’m suggesting that I don’t know where Azula is, and I’m guessing you can tell me. I’d like to know.”

Zuko’s brow creases. “… _Why_?”

Sokka deliberately takes a step backwards. Zuko isn’t a charging lionmoose, he’s a shying ostrich-horse.

“I’m worried about her? I kind of like her company? I promised I wouldn’t leave? Take your pick.”

Zuko looks like he’s about to say something, before coming to the realization that whatever this crazy Water Tribes guy does, it is not, in fact, his problem.

“She’s been sent to an asylum. On one of the islands. I can give you a map, if that’s what you want to do.”

She’s not in the city. Worse than he was hoping, better than some of the things he was dreading.

“Thanks. It is.” 

* * *

 

Aang’s easy to avoid. Everyone wants some of the Avatar’s time, and he’s nice enough to give it to them. So long as he doesn’t make himself obvious, there’s no way Aang will figure out his plan before he’s on the ship.

Suki, though, isn’t quite so busy. She tracks him down while he’s still packing his things.

“You’re leaving.”

“Yeah,” he replies, eyes forward, focused on the task of folding shirts.

“You’re going to see her. Zuko told me,” she adds, when his shoulders stiffen.

“Is there anyone he _didn’t_ tell?” he grouses, swinging his bag onto his shoulder, and finally turning to face her.

She’s got her arms folded, head tilted. She looks like she’s waiting for something.

“She hurt you. She hurt both of us.” Not an accusation; just a statement of fact.

“That is true.”

“And you’re still going.”

He shrugs, and the bag shifts across his back. “Looks like it.”

She sighs, and some internal tension releases. “Okay.”

As he moves towards the door, she steps aside to let him go.

“We could’ve had something, couldn’t we?” she asks, a little wistfully.

Well. No real reason to deny it, is there? “Yeah. I think we could’ve.” 

* * *

 

“Sokka.”

He turns around at the sound of his name, one foot still on the gangplank. “Let me guess,” he sighs, “you’ve come to persuade me not to go.”

Katara snorts. “Sure. Because I’ve ever been able to stop you doing something stupid.” Her face softens. “Just… be careful, okay? And remember to write. I already thought I’d lost you once.”

The unguarded sincerity is choking. He scratches the back of his head and looks at his shoes. “Ah, you’re not getting rid of me this easily.”

“I’d better not,” she replies, and before he can blink he’s swept up into a fierce hug. “…Good luck,” she mutters into his shoulder.

“Won’t need it,” he grins, a little unsteadily, and she lets go, waving him away up onto the ship. 

* * *

 

He’s got a little money, scraped together from concerned well-wishers, so he can just about afford to rent a room in the small costal village. Above, on a cliff overlooking the sea, the asylum squats.

She’s in there. Dragged away, chained and locked up while he wasn’t looking, halfway across the country before he even stopped to _check_ -

He swallows the rising anger. Not helpful. He’s here now. That’ll have to do.

* * *

 

The asylum is a nicer building than he’s expecting- he was kind of anticipating damp stone floors, rusting bars on cell doors, rattling chains, distant echoes of hysterical screams, that kind of thing. This place seems big on gardens and comfy chairs. Which is… nice, he guesses. Although it does mean his half-considered plan A of ‘talk way in, grab Azula, commence blowing of joint’ is starting to look way more unreasonable. Which is weirdly disappointing. 

* * *

 

For the first hour or two, nobody seems particularly inclined to help him, but once it becomes obvious that Sokka is quite happy to hang around idly running his thumb around the engraved pommel of his sword, looking obstructive and asking irritating questions until everyone in the building dies of old age or he gets what he wants, an orderly finally breaks, and agrees to take him to see Azula.

The orderly leads him through a maze of corridors, until they finally reach a plain-looking door, flanked by two placid-looking guards.

“Are you certain about this?” the orderly asks, even as she produces the key. “She’s… dangerous. We’ve had to keep her sedated almost since she arrived.”

He shrugs off her concern, determined not to show how much the line about sedatives is making his fists itch. “Eh. She’s tried to kill me about… five times now? I’ll be fine." 

* * *

 

At first glance, it’s a perfectly nice room. A couple of chairs, a selection of books. A pair of side rooms- bathroom and bedroom, probably- all in all, it looks about ten times nicer than the place he’s rented for himself. Royalty can’t even go crazy like regular people, apparently.

Then he starts paying attention. To the windows- too high, too small- to the way everything looks _soft_ , round-edged, and distinctly padded. To the way the only door is the one that just locked behind him.

His heart crawls into his throat. Does she _need_ this? Has she gotten this bad?

He dashes into one of the side rooms at random, and there she is, stretched out flat in a narrow bed, under a thick blanket, ragged hair fanning out on the pillow, eyes screwed up tight-

He looks closer, and realises he was just a little wrong. She’s not lying flat; at least not by her choice. She’s strapped in. Thick leather belts with heavy buckles are pinning her in place.

Okay _no_.

He squashes the first instinct, which is to draw his sword and just slash the awful things to pieces. Too many risks, also holding a sword over Azula while she’s sleeping just seems like a terrible idea. So he forces his hands to stay calm and practical and _not_ shaking with an anger that would kind of worry him if he stopped to think about it and unbuckles the straps, one by one until- there’s a blur of movement and needles digging into his throat and something’s crashing into him bearing to the ground with a scream-

He forces himself not to flinch. Flinching here would be a bad thing.

“Azula?”

She’s above him, fingernails digging into his throat, free hand raised fist clenched nostrils flaring eyes suddenly widening-

“Sokka?” she breathes.

“…Hi.”

Her grip doesn’t loosen. “…You _left_.”

He can’t shake his head, but tries anyway. “They took you away. I wasn’t looking. Won’t happen again. Promise.”

Her eyes turn wild, and with a sudden start, she lets him go, springing backwards into the centre of the room, taking in her surroundings like she’s never seen them before.

 _Maybe she hasn’t_ , he can’t help but thinking, and just for that second plan A is back on the table.

She looks hunted, and defensive, but she doesn’t say anything, and so he just sits, and waits. He’s gotten good at waiting. He’ll be there if she wants him.

* * *

 

He’s not the most popular guy in the village. Might be because he’s Water Tribe, might be because he’s just a stranger. Might be because he carries a sword everywhere he goes, which for some reason people are kind of nervous about.

That’s absolutely their problem, though. He’s spent long enough unarmed. 

* * *

 

The thing is, she’s getting… better? Which is good. He visits every day, and his time has shifted away from ‘sit in the corner or on the floor while she looks unhappy, maybe hold her hand a bit if she wants’ to something approaching regular conversation.

Yesterday she admitted that she hates seabirds, and he filed that away jealously, a little bit of her just for _him_. He understands, on some level, that he’s being kind of weird.

But he’s not sure if he should credit the asylum with her recovery. For some reason, the idea makes him a little uncomfortable.

He can’t help, in the middle of the night when sleep just isn’t happening, wishing for… _something_. A conspiracy to uncover. A Spirit World invasion. Maybe a cult? He doesn’t think he’s ever tangled with a cult; that could be something. Pirates, a civil war, _anything_. He feels like he’s waiting for something terrible to happen.

And then he works out why he’s feeling like that. It would be simple. A bunch of weirdos in masks showing up and trying to kidnap Azula would be awful, of course, but it’d be something they could _deal_ with. He could do something that wasn’t just sit and wait and talk and hope, hope that she’s not going to be stuck here forever because the fish they sell around here is dreadful and he doesn’t want to have to be eating that for the rest of his life. 

* * *

 

_Katara_

_How is everything with you guys? I am fine and not at all burned to death._

_The asylum seems nicer than I was expecting, although do not read too much into that, as I was kind of expecting to have to set fire to it or duel the matron or some other kind of thing, you know how our lives have been going._

_Anyway Azula is not dead, if you care, but does not seem very happy and I can’t say I am surprised. I am absolutely not an expert on mental health but they seem to tie her up in a straitjacket before they’re willing to go anywhere near her (as if this would actually stop her doing terrible things if she felt like it- did you know firebenders can shoot flames out of their mouths? It’s kind of impressive. Ask Toph if she can spit rocks at people). Other than that they mostly seem to have decided to give her calming tea, which she does drink although it does not seem to make her that calm. We played pai sho yesterday and she is getting better at it although her strategy is kind of unconventional. She flipped the table over at the end, although she did explain that it was because she had worked out there was no possible way for her to win at that point. (There was but I don’t think she’s figured out what the White Lotus is supposed to do yet.)_

_Also a new doctor showed up with a bunch of sparkly rocks on a tray and started suggesting that Azula might react positively to The Healing Powers Of Crystals. I explained to him why he was wrong and he went away, so I am at least doing something useful. I told Azula about Crystal Guy and we had a laugh about it. Her laugh is extremely terrifying except when she kind of snorts. Pretend I didn’t tell you about the snorting, she’s really self-conscious about it._

_Your Brother_

_Sokka_

_P.S. please send money_

_P.P.S. seriously don’t mention the snorting thing, I pointed it out and she went a funny colour and hid behind her hair for about ten minutes._

* * *

 

He’s found a little spot on the beach where he can train in peace and quiet. People seem to not want to bother him at the best of times, and they _definitely_ leave him alone when he starts waving his sword around and attacking trees and driftwood and particularly menacing rocks.

It helps, though. It burns up some of the restless energy that’s humming through his bones, gets him worn out, helps him sleep.

He’s probably better now than he ever was, which is kind of funny when he stops to think about it. The war’s over but he’s more ready for it than ever.

But he can’t stop pushing himself, moving until his muscles turn liquid and he can barely stagger back to his room- it’s a ritual or a precaution or something else, but he’s got to be _ready_ , ready for…

Ready for _what_? 

* * *

 

She’s propped up against the trunk of an ornamental tree, one foot carelessly close to the edge of the ornamental pond, glaring up at the leaves when he walks into the garden- they’ve let her out for air, and they haven’t even made her wear the awful straitjacket. They only keep that for special occasions these days, he guesses.

“Hey,” he murmurs, slumping down next to her. Her eyes flick momentarily to him in that way he figures probably means _hi, it’s so great to see you_. Or maybe _you are here and I am choosing not to pretend otherwise_. Either way, it’s enough for him.

She rolls her head back, and closes her eyes. With a long sigh, she exhales a tiny plume of fire into the air, no bigger than his finger, and, out of the corner of his eye, he sees at least six guards dive for their weapons. He glances over at her, and a slow smile crawls across her face at the sound of half a dozen soldiers trying to look like they _didn’t_ just have tiny heart attacks.

You’ve got to make your own fun, he guesses.

“I miss it,” she murmurs, so only he can hear her. “I miss people _reacting_ to me. They talk about me as if I can’t hear them, in this place. But I can.”

Sokka’s got nothing sensible to add, but he tries anyway.

“You know what I realised I miss? It’s kind of awful, but… I miss the war.”

And he does. It’s a terrible thing to admit, but he misses the purpose, the fire, the _direction_. He was told unless they did something impossible the Fire Nation was going to win, and everyone looked to _him_. It’d been simple, in the way that an avalanche is simple. It’s going to kill you, or it isn’t.

Azula smiles, sadly. “So do I.” 

* * *

 

“Okay this is just unpleasant to watch. Mind if I have a try?”

She drops the hairbrush with exaggerated carelessness, and throws up her hands.

“Be my guest.”

He sits behind her, taking the brush in one hand, and a careful lock of her hair with the other.

Brushing her hair has a pleasant, almost meditative air to it, and it’s not long until he’s completely lost track of time. By the way her eyes have closed in the mirror and her head tilts back, it looks like she’s enjoying herself at least.

“You’ve got really long hair,” he notes, insightfully. “It’s nice.”

“Hmm,” Azula opines, a low noise deep in the throat. Sokka is struck by the brief but insistent thought that he could probably do this for the rest of his life, and in fact he just might. 

* * *

 

One evening, close to winter with a cold mist rolling off the sea, Sokka walks into his room to find a man sitting in his chair and reading his books.

Reflex tugs his sword into his hand before he blinks, but he forces his arm down when he abruptly recognizes who it is that’s broken into his place.

“Good evening, your Fire Lordliness,” Sokka announces, because _someone_ has to be polite here, and Zuko looks up from the page.

“Sokka. You took your time. Thank you for not stabbing me.”

Irritation begins to overtake confusion. “You know, some clever person from the Earth Kingdom invented this amazing thing called ‘a door’. People wait outside them when the person they’re visiting isn’t home. You should think about giving it a try sometime.”

Zuko seems more interested in Sokka’s sword than he is in anything falling out of his mouth, which, if Sokka is honest, is probably fair enough.

“That’s a nice sword,” he says, mildly, and Sokka has to acknowledge the guy’s taste, at least.

“Thanks. I made it out of a space rock.”

Zuko looks like he doesn’t know what to make of that. “…I heard you trained with Master Piandao.”

“Yeah. Only for a day, though.”

“A _day_?”

Sokka shrugs. “You know how it is. I had places to be, invasions to screw up, that kind of thing. Also, did you seriously travel halfway across the country and break into my place for small talk? Because that seems like what’s happening here.”

Zuko sighs, and pulls himself to his feet. Motioning for Sokka to follow, he steps out onto the small balcony. He turns to look up at the black silhouette of the asylum, just possible to pick out in the darkness.

“There’s a couple reasons I came,” he says, once Sokka joins him. “Aang’s got a message for you. He wants to know when you’ll be free to come back. He says they need you.”

That’s a knife he wasn’t expecting. He _misses_ them, keenly, and it crashes in on him but it’s not _nearly_ good enough. Sokka pats Zuko gently on the shoulder. “I love Aang to pieces, but he is a _terrible_ liar. He doesn’t need me back. None of them _need_ me back. They’d give me a job I don’t want and don’t deserve because they want me to feel involved. Tell him… tell him thanks for the offer but I’ve got stuff to do here.” There. Choice made. Wasn’t even a question, in the end. “And I think I can guess the other thing you’re here about, huh.”

“…Is she being treated well?” he asks, quietly, and Sokka snorts. _This_ is how Zuko decides to find out?

“What, nobody tells you these things?”

Zuko shrugs. “They tell me what they think I’ll want to hear. I guessed you wouldn’t have that problem.”

Fair enough, he supposes. “…They could be doing worse. They’re more scared of her than anything.”

“She’s dangerous,” Zuko replies, limply. “She could hurt people.”

Which is true enough, but Sokka feels compelled to make a point. “Zuko last year you rammed my village with a warship, threatened everyone I knew and loved, and tried to kill me,” he says, mildly.

Zuko winces, just a little. “…I wasn’t actually trying to kill you. I… uh, didn’t think you were much of a threat.”

 _Ouch_. “Oh? Well, I _was_ trying to kill you, so my point still kind of stands. I’m pretty sure everyone I know could kill me really really easily. You kind of get used to it after a while.”

A silence lapses over the two of them, as Zuko’s gaze is drawn back up to the asylum.

Sokka thinks he can probably hazard a guess at what he’s thinking.

“You know, you _could_ go see her.”

Zuko’s eyes drop. “…No.”

Oh. “Okay then, worth a try.”

“I’m… I’m not ready.” Zuko’s nails are almost making dents in the balcony. Sokka’s had a _lot_ of practice tactfully ignoring this kind of thing, though, so he just stays put. “…I _know_ she was a victim too, she’s spent so long under his control, I just- she hurt me. For _years_. I don’t know when I’ll be able to let that go.”

Sokka shrugs. “Okay.”

Zuko looks up in quiet surprise, and exhales a short laugh. “For a second I thought you were going to try and persuade me.”

“Nah.”

Zuko gives him that ‘I’m _almost_ , _almost_ sure you’re a moron’ look that he turned on Sokka back in the palace, then shifts, pushing off from the railing.

“Come with me. There’s something I want to give you.”

He vaults off the balcony, onto the sand of the beach. Sokka scratches his head, then, after a moment, follows. 

* * *

 

“…A pile of tarpaulin. Truly all my Solstices have come at once.”

Zuko glowers at him, then grips one edge of the indistinct heap of canvas, hauling it aside to reveal a wooden gondola, and a tangle of ropes.

It takes Sokka a shamefully long time to recognize it. “You’re giving me…an airship?”

“No,” Zuko grunts, bent double over the gondola. “I’m giving you this.”

It’s a small bag, but a lot heavier than it looks. It clinks as Sokka takes it.

“You’re sure? This is… a lot.”

Zuko snorts, dismissively. “I have more money than I actually know what to do with. Call it reparations for ramming a warship into your village and hitting you in the head.”

Sokka shrugs, and takes the money. He can live with that.

“Zuko,” he says, as the Fire Lord fiddles with the balloon. “Tell Aang if he ever needs anyone stabbed or blown up or whatever, he knows where I am. He can come visit any time he wants, too.” Zuko nods, but in a fit of unbridled generosity, Sokka continues. “I guess I can extend that offer to you, too. Although go easy on the getting people stabbed I guess; it kinda conflicts with your image.”

Zuko turns to look at him, face uncharacteristically unreadable.

“Thanks,” he says, slowly. “I’ll bear that in mind.” He exhales, and looks up at the moonlight. “You know what? Keep the airship. You might need it.”

Sokka blinks in confusion. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll walk back, take in the country, that kind of thing,” Zuko replies, with an easy shrug.

“Well, okay. Thanks, I guess.” 

* * *

 

It’s only the next morning, when Sokka returns to inspect his new prize, that he begins to suspect that Zuko might either be crazy, forgetful, or messing with him. The airship’s engine is too small to be powered by conventional fuel for long. It needs a firebender to pilot it.

* * *

Winter arrives, and everything slips for Azula.

“Hey. …They say you’re not eating again. Now, I’m not a doctor but I’m pretty sure eating is important.”

“Why?”

The fact that she answers at all is a surprise.

“I think it’s to do with vitamins? I mean, it’s eating. Eating’s good.”

Azula stares blankly at the ceiling. Sokka’s babbling diminishes into nothing.

“What am I _for_?” she rasps.

The question catches him off guard. “…Like… living? Having good times and learning things and seeing stuff? That kind of _for_?”

She musters up the energy to glower at him, briefly, before sighing and rolling back to stare blankly at the ceiling.

“You’re content to live like that? Spending every day just… scrabbling in the dirt?”

Sokka can’t shake the feeling he’s missing something here. “Dirt’s good. Helps stuff grow. We need dirt to live.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I have been told." 

* * *

 

_Katara_

_How is everyone? I am ~~fine~~ okay. Azula is having a bad winter. I don’t know if it’s the weather or the dark or something else but she’s talking less and less. It is not like she was when she first arrived- she isn’t talking to people that aren’t there or anything- but she’s living inside her own head most of the time now._

_~~I don’t know what to do.~~ _

_~~I’m afraid she might~~ _

He sighs, and screws up the letter. 

* * *

 

It finally happens, like he’d been hoping it wouldn’t. He walks into the asylum one morning- cold and wind and rain heralding the start of a new year- to find it in chaos.

She’s not there. She’s missing.

Okay. Don’t panic. Absolutely don’t panic.

She can’t have gotten far. 

* * *

 

She’s standing by the cliff edge when he finally tracks her down, a few miles down the coast. She’s wobbling gently, looking underdressed for the pounding rain, and underfed for how far she’s tried to go.

“Azula.” He steps out, slowly. She turns to meet his eyes, blank and cold.

“Look at you,” she snaps, stepping closer- which is _good_ , because closer to him means further away from the cliff- “look at what you’ve turned into.”

He shuffles backwards. “Azula? What are you talking about?”

She waves a contemptuous hand, taking in his entire being with a sneer. “You are petty, and _diminished_. They’ve told you what you want and you go along with it.”

“Who is _they_ here, I’d feel better if we got some specifics here,” he suggests, in vain.

“We were _robbed_ , both of us,” she continues, ignoring his responses, buoyed up on a tide of indignation. “And no matter how much you pretend, you’re _not_ like them and you never will be.” She laughs, harsh and sharp and without any humour at all. “Show me! Show me you’re still who I remember!”

He dodges the first blow more on instinct than anything. The next three, through luck. The fifth and sixth, though, send him reeling, and a wild shove connects with her torso, putting some space between them.

He looks up, through the haze of the rainstorm.

“Okay,” he says, gasping for air. “Okay, this is what you want? Okay.”

He reaches up, and unbuckles his sword belt. The weapon hits the ground with a damp thump, and she springs for him.

It’s amazing how easy it comes back to him, the brain taking a back seat in the flurry of limbs. Amazingly, he finds he’s not dead yet. Which means she’s not firebending.

Which means she’s still in control. Which is _good_. The fact that she’s currently trying to kick his teeth in is _a good thing_.

“You see?” she shouts, as a hard kick to his chest knocks him backwards, scrambling for footing and pulling into a stance. “You haven’t changed, deep down. We were _meant_ for this!”

“For… kicking the crap out of each other?” he pants.

“Look at us!” she screeches, arms flung suddenly wide as he eyes her carefully. “Look at what’s left of us! We commanded _armies_! We stormed cities! Nations rose and fell at our command! All our lives we were prepared for- for _this_!” she waves at the space between them, the churned earth of their brief match. “And what’s left? What’s your reward? My _punishment_?” She slumps, but her eyes, shining, remain fixed to his. “We aren’t _needed_ any more,” she hisses. “We’re _inconvenient_. They expect you to be a lackey, and they expect me to stay locked in that prison until I die.”

Sokka swallows hard. “It’s not gonna be like that. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

“And then what?” she demands, taking a shuffling step backwards, towards the edge. “What have we got left?”

Sokka knows an opening when he sees one. He ducks around her, placing himself firmly between her and the cliff.

“A sword, an airship, and a couple of really nice haircuts. I think we’ll manage.”

There’s a moment of singing tension between them, and then Azula starts to laugh, softer this time, almost muted by the rain.

“And that’s going to be enough?”

He has to shrug. “You conquered the biggest city in the world with two friends and a tub of greasepaint; I’m pretty sure we’ll get by.” 

* * *

 

It’s not that simple, of course, it never is. Azula’s little breakout panicked the asylum staff enough that they wouldn’t even _consider_ formally discharging her until well into spring. Still, she behaves, and drinks her tea, and finally, _finally_ wins a game of pai sho against him, and if that’s not an endorsement he doesn’t know what is. 

* * *

 

Summer’s almost on them as he throws the last of his things into a satchel, and strolls down to the beach. Azula’s there already, inflating the airship as he throws the satchel into the gondola, along with his sword. She looks up at him as he vaults in after it, and gives him that small smile- that anyone else would have probably called a smirk, but he knows what he means- and Sokka can’t shake the sudden feeling that he could stare down a charging lion-moose and come off best.

“So,” he asks, as he starts testing the ropes. “Where to?”


End file.
